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“‘Pardon and lyfe to thir terys geif we,’
Quod Priamus, ‘and mercy grantis fre.’
And first of all, the mannykillis and hard bandis
Chargit he lowss of this ilk manis handis,
With frendly wordis syne thus onto hym said,
‘Quhat evir thou art, beis mery and glad,
Forȝet the Grekis that lost ar and away,
From thens fordwart thou salbe owris, perfay.
Bot schaw trewly this a thing I inquer,
Onto quhat fyne this huge hors was heir
Of sa gret statur beldit vp on hie.
Quha wrocht the wark? Quhat may it signyfie?
Quhat is it—ane offerand of sum halynes
Or sum engyne of batale, as I gess?’
Said Priamus. Bot than the tother wight,
Ful weil instrukit of Grekis art and slycht,
Lowsit and laitly fred of al his bandis,
Onto the starnys hevit vp his handis:
‘O ȝhe,’ quod he, ‘euerlestand lampis brycht,
And ȝour dyvyne power and ȝour gret mycht,
That aucht not beyn forsworn, I testefy,
And ȝou altaris and cruel swordis, quham I
Am eschapit, and al ȝou goddis wyss
Quhais garlandis bair I as ȝour sacryfyss,
Leiffull is now to brek but mair abaid
The sworn promyss that I to Grekis maid.
Leifful is eik tha pepill fortil hait,
And schaw furth planely al at euer I wait,
Thar hyd slycht als to rype furth to the grund:
To na cuntre nor lawis am I bund.
Sa mot thou, Troy, quham I sal salue fra skath,
Kepe me thy promyss and thi lawte baith,
As I sal schaw the verite ilke deill
And for my lyfe sal rendir ȝou a gret weill.
The Grekis trast and comfort mony ȝheris,
From the begynnyng of thir mortale weris,
On Pallas help stude haill this towne toget,
Bot efter that Thedeus wareit get
With Vlixes, fyndar of wykkytness,
The fatale rellyk of Palladium, I gess,
Furth of hir tempill and the hallowit hald
To reif away forsabilly war so bald,
And sla the wachis of the cheif castell,
The haly ymage, grysly forto tell,
Pollute and fylit, and with thar bludy handis
Hir vyrgyne valis and blissit godly garlandis
Presumyt twich—sen syne has euermair
Bakwart of Grekis the hope went and weilfair,
Thar mychtis and thar strenthis feblit fast;
So frawart thame hir mynd this god hes kast
That with na dowtsum takynnys, ma than twa,
Hir greif furth schew this ilke Trytonia.
Skarsly the statw was in thar tempill vpset
Quhen all hir membris bittir terys swet,
Hir eyn glowit as ony gleid for ire
Quharfra thar flaw mony sparkis of fyre,
A teyrful thing and wonderfull to tell;
Thryss schynyng down on the grond scho fell,
Hyr targe trymlyng, and schakyng fast hir speir.
“Onone, al most ȝe wend to sey infeir,”
Cryis Calcas, “Nor Grekis instrument
Of Troy the wallis sal neuer hurt ne rent
Less than agane the land of Arge be socht
With alkyn portage quhilk was hydder brocht
In barge or bilgeit ballyngare our see:
The goddess mon be mesit als,” quod he.
And now set thai, with this ilke wynd, haue socht
Thar land of Grece or Myce, this is thar thocht,
To graith thar armour and wapynnys by and by,
And with supple of goddis in cumpany
In haist forto return agane our see:
Or ȝe beyn war, apon ȝou wilt thai be.
Thus al per ordour declaris thame Calcas,
At quhais monicioun als vp biggit was
This bustuus form, in lyknes of a horss,
For Palladium, and to appeiss the forss
Of the goddes, and into recompens
Of thar wrachit and dolorus offens.
And mairatour, of sa huge quantite
Calcas commandis beld this statw of tre
Thus large and gret, weil neir the hevyn on hycht,
So at the portis it ne entyr myght,
Nor ȝit be brocht within ȝour wallys wyde,
Nor ȝour pepill favour, help nor gyde
Eftir the auld relligioun and vsage.
For gif ȝour handis had violet, in ȝour rage,
This haly presand of the god Mynerve,
Gret wraik suld follow that al suld ȝe sterve,
Priamus ryng distroyit and al ȝour pelf—
Quhilk destany goddis turn rather in hym self!
Bot gif this ilk statw, standis heir wrocht,
War with ȝour handis into the cite brocht,
Than schew he that the pepill of Asya
But ony obstakill in fell batale suld ga
Bet down the townys of Arge, that regioun,
And the sam fait happyn our successioune.’
Be sik wylis and slychtis mony one
Of fals controvit and maynsworn Synone
The mater is belevit with all it heris,
And takyn ar by dissait and fenȝeit teris
Tha pepil quham the son of Thedeus,
Nor fers Achilles, clepit Larysseus,
Nor Grece ten ȝheris in batale mycht ourcum,
Nor ȝit the thousand schippis al and sum.”